let lemons be angry

I felt sad as I leafed through the survey forms. Some people want to know about their purpose in life but they don't want to be contacted. Some people say they don't want to be contacted, but leave their phone numbers and email addresses behind. Some people tick "I don't know why I'm here," but they don't want to find out. It's what I always do when I fill out surveys--rush it out so I seem like I don't care.

I don't quite believe their ticks, so I look at their email addresses anyway. So often I sit on the fence, looking down to the other side. But I won't get there unless someone comes along and pulls me by my hand. Or not even a pull; all it takes is a smile and a beckon, an imperceptible bend of the finger.

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